I gotta tell you, I'm the kind of guy who can't guzzle anti-freeze (that I
had just drained out of the Nash), write an essay, and make some hobo stew
all at the same time. Far too many tasks for my tiny brain.

Nevertheless, as it so happened, on one particular rainy night while I was
trying to do those three things more or less simultaneously, and as I was
sitting there in my left over USMC underwear at the table of my
single-wide parked out by the train tracks, I was having trouble trying to
think up some hateful things I could write to piss off the goody-two shoes
and anyone who doesn't look like me. Being distracted by the guzzling,
the writing and the stewing, I just threw anything I could find down my
throat, on to the page, and into the stew pot. What the hell, I figured
that was the whole idea. Throw everything together and you'll end up with
a great drink, a great column, and a great stew. It was a veritable
metaphor for diversity and multi-culturalism/multi-racialism. Blending.
Genocide. Extinction.

Well, I must have dozed off for a while, not being used to this particular
brand of anti-freeze. Anyway, when I woke up I stared at the Olivetti for
a while and couldn't think of a damn thing to write. Deadline was
looming. Where was my muse of hate? Just then, I smelled the stew. I
ran to the stove and the crap was bubbling out of the pot. I looked into
the pot, and suddenly it hit me--Eureka!--there, right in front of my
beady little blood shot peepers was the inspiration for what was to become
my most famous expression: "slimy brown glop." Yup, that's what it looked
like. So, boys and girls, that's how I came up with those three words that
seem to have stuck to me and which are now quoted and re-quoted and
repeated over and over again, usually after being lifted from secondary
and tertiary sources such as various and sundry "hate watch" websites that
seem to actively scour the nation for words to be used to scare little old
ladies into donating to them.

The point of the term, if I remember correctly, wasn't to disparage anyone
as being slimy or glop like. It was just a colorful way to express a
notion similar to the concept known by all good artists that one has to
know when to lift the brush from the canvas.

Nowadays, it seems every time some smarmy dumb ass reporter for some
liberal newspaper wants an interview with me, they always refer to that
slimy brown glop remark that they never seem to have actually seen in
context, and they then always ask if I'm a racist or a white-supremacist,
or a Neo-Nazi. Of course, what they're really saying, by inquiring if I'm
one of these three types, is: "You hate people because they're a different
color. Don't you know we all bleed red blood? Diversity is our strength.
There's only one race, the human race."

These reporters don't seem capable of understanding that racist,
white-supremacist and Neo-Nazi are three different terms and mean three
different things, and they have an even harder time understanding that I'm
not any of these. But, dear liberal reader, you demur. So, I'll belabor
this a little for your edification. First, I'm not a racist, because the
term, in common usage, has come to mean one who hates others because of
their race. I don't hate anyone. Indifference is a better term. Also, race
is too small a term for the way I think about the differences between all
living things. Geneist might work, I suppose, but even that is too small.
If I think of a correct label, I'll get back to you so you can put it on
me. Second, I'm not a white-supremacist, because, as I understand the
term, it means that one thinks whites are superior to others. And, of
course, they are superior in some areas, but they're not superior in
others. All living things have strengths and weaknesses. Third, I'm not
a Neo-Nazi, because I'm not a member of a Nazi party.

Of all the thousands of words I've strung together--including some things
that even sound half bright and insightful, even if I do say so
myself--those three words--slimy brown glop--seem to be the most famous,
or infamous. I've become the guy who wrote those three brilliant words.
I'm a friggin' Shakespeare, by damn.

Now, truth be told, those who want to read my stuff have to go out of
their way to find it. It's sad but true. My essays are not delivered to
their homes and they're probably not at the corner market. I also don't
hold anyone down and make them read my essays. BUT WHEN I TAKE OVER THE
WORLD!..uh, never mind. This little matter of having to go out of their
way to find my stuff causes me to have very little patience for the
numbnuts who do go out of their way to repeatedly read what I write and
who then whine that they don't like it, all the while they keep reading
more and more and whining more and more. Hey dopes! If you don't like
what's on TV, turn the channel. If you don't like what's on the radio,
turn to a different station. If you don't like what I write, don't read
it. Again, no one is forced to read anything I write and, in my view, too
few people do read any of it. And, cripes, even fewer understand that most
of what I write usually concerns the big questions of existence.
Surprised? Maybe it's because I don't usually put this big stuff in the
dry language of the academy. Sneaky friggin' me.

Well, this week, as with most weeks, I was contacted by the usual types of
neurotic bigots and shills who take some of the thousands of things I've
written over the years and who cherry pick a phrase or word here and
there, and then use what I've written out of context to build a column for
their newspapers about hate and racism. Dumb asses. Most of these morons
are definitely not Mensa material. But, the sad thing is that many of
their readers are even dumber as evidenced by their gullibility in
believing everything they read.

One puerile punk breathlessly wrote recently that some of my essays have
appeared on "Neo-Nazi" sites. This idiot then whipped out the slimy
brown glop quote for his low I.Q. readers. Whoopeedo. Actually, my essays
have appeared just about everyplace, and I'm thankful to editors and web
masters of all persuasions, who do run them. I write to be read. They've
even appeared in some Black owned and probably even some Hispanic owned
publications and web sites, and I thank these folks for running them. Hey,
what's race or political persuasion or religion got to do with it? I
don't agree with everything in every publication and on every web site
where my stuff runs and I know damn well that the editors and web masters
don't agree with everything I write. Even though we have a growing number
of sacred cows in this country, we still do have some rights to think as
we wish and to tell others what we think.

While I'd just as soon not have two digit I.Q. types, who can't even
spell philosophy, bother trying to figure out the big three and four
letter words I use and the simple concepts I'm expressing, I do want
people with open and questioning minds, and who have the intelligence to
know what they're reading, to read what I write. Maybe they'll like some
of it. Maybe they won't. I figure some of my stuff might just act like
a Zen slap across some snoozing cerebrums and send their carriers into
cartwheels of enlightenment and higher consciousness. Well, why the hell
not?

One moron writer, who wrote about me, kept throwing around the word
"racist" a lot and mixed it up with the word "hate," so that the two words
probably were seen as synonyms in the small, tepid brains of his readers.
No doubt his readers didn't even think of the word genes when he mentioned
race, so they probably didn't bother to scratch the surface and try to
learn something about why there are races of humans, breeds of other
animals, and varieties of plants.

Let's be clear about something. Genes matter, even when dopes don't know
it. That's just science. The problem in our current Dark Age is that the
hysteria over the subject of race is so common that the subject has become
a sacred cow and no one wants to write about it or talk about it lest they
be called a racist. That's good enough reason for me to want to write
about it, and I do, and that's why I get these questions all the time
about whether or not I'm a racist. Ho hum. Once, those on the cutting
edge of societal change were considered risqué when they used certain
swear words. Those sacred cows were toppled long ago. It's time to topple
some more.

I once wrote an essay about a doctor in France who believes that the high
mortality rate for Black babies is the result of an incorrect medical
belief that all humans are the same. Such a false belief causes doctors
to not deliver Black babies when they should be delivered--a couple of
weeks before White babies are normally delivered--according to the doctor
I was writing about. This doctor tried out his theory of racial
differences in baby delivery dates and, as he expected, fewer Black babies
died. What did he get for his trouble. He was called a racist. Ho hum.
And, I was no doubt called a racist for writing about it.

The thing humans have that most other animals don't have (as far as we
know) is the ability to think abstract thoughts about such things as the
nature of reality and life and all the other big questions of existence.
Bigots, however, don't want us to think or talk or write about some
things. Those are precisely the things that we should think about, talk
about, and write about if intellectual freedom and free speech, and just
maximizing what it means to be human, mean anything at all, and if, as I
believe, the major badge of being "human" is this ability to use our
minds.

A White reporter interviewed me recently and she tried to race bait me. I
quickly told her that she could continue interviewing me, if I could
interview her. We then traded question/answer for question/answer. I
asked her if she noticed that black people were a darker color than white
people. She got flustered and didn't know how to answer. I kid you not.
She was absolutely silent for several minutes. She then tried to do a
verbal dance to avoid answering (because, she knew where I was headed). I
persisted, and refused to answer any more of her questions until she
answered mine. And, then, finally, she tried to answer by hedging and
said, "For the sake of argument, suppose someone does notice that
different people are different colors?" I persisted some more. Finally,
she said that yes she had noticed that black people are black and white
people are white. I then told her that some people would call her a
racist for noticing this. She got flustered even more at this. I asked
if she was a racist. She replied that she wasn't. I then asked her when
she had stopped being a racist because she had just admitted she was one.
She got flustered again. End of interview.

Such is the nature of closed minds that once a person is labeled with
whatever the current general purpose smear term is, it becomes both like a
bad joke going around a room at a party, and a "Do you beat your wife?"
question. "Are you a racist? No? When did you stop being a racist?"

Screw 'em. The next time I make stew I'm not going to ruin it by throwing
everything I can find in the pot.

# # #

THREE BOOKS BY HARD TO PIGEONHOLE H. MILLARD

All three books are now listed on Amazon.com.
Just click on the "http://www..." links after each book.
They're also available at quality brick and mortar stores or can be
ordered by them for you.

The lefties at the OC WEEKLY said Millard is one
of OC's most frightening people.

"Millard is an important writer" New Nation
News
"Millard is an original. His books aren't like your typical fiction.
If you don't know where to put his books, try the same shelf with
Kerouac,
Kafka, Sartre and Nietzsche" - a reader.

Ourselves Alone & Homeless Jack's Religion
messages of ennui and meaning in post-american america by H. Millard
In Ourselves Alone and Homeless Jack's Religion, H. Millard, the hard to pigeonhole author of The Outsider and Roaming the Wastelands, has put together some of his category bending commentaries on post-American America. The commentaries deal with politics, philosophy, free speech, genocide, religion and other topics in Millard's edgy style and lead up to Homeless Jack's Religion, in which Homeless Jack lays out revelations he found in a dumpster on skid row. Browse Before You BuyISBN: 0-595-32646-3